Through rabbit ear snow
I watched all day,
and kept a vigil.
The sad click of hooves on pavement,
almost in time with muffled drums.
Bada dum, dum, dum.
Bada dum.
Bada dum.
The flag draped caisson,
slowly passing miles and miles of tears,
as a riderless horse sauntered aimlessly,
wondering, where is my master,
did he fall in battle, have I left him behind?
Slow stepping,
stone faced soldiers in parade dress,
each in their private war,
fighting back utter sorrow for their fallen leader.
A black veiled widow,
stood bravely
with brothers and sisters
and her Fatherless children.
She was not numbed by that cold November wind,
but her heart was,
by a sniper’s aim.
This, is a woman,
strong and resolute.
With a grieving nation watching her mourn her husband,
she would never be more graceful than at that moment,
and her tear stained face could not hide her beauty.
Where has our brave knight gone,
so young and alive with promise,
and hope for his people?
His flame will shine eternal now,
his page in history written,
but not by his hand,
it was written by our hand.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
Through rabbit ear snow
I watched all day,
and kept a vigil.
The sad click of hooves on pavement,
almost in time with muffled drums.
Bada dum, dum, dum.
Bada dum.
Bada dum.
The flag draped caisson,
slowly passing miles and miles of tears,
as a riderless horse sauntered aimlessly,
wondering, where is my master,
did he fall in battle, have I left him behind?
Slow stepping,
stone faced soldiers in parade dress,
each in their private war,
fighting back utter sorrow for their fallen leader.
A black veiled widow,
stood bravely
with brothers and sisters
and her Fatherless children.
She was not numbed by that cold November wind,
but her heart was,
by a sniper’s aim.
This, is a woman,
strong and resolute.
With a grieving nation watching her mourn her husband,
she would never be more graceful than at that moment,
and her tear stained face could not hide her beauty.
Where has our brave knight gone,
so young and alive with promise,
and hope for his people?
His flame will shine eternal now,
his page in history written,
but not by his hand,
it was written by our hand.
Fifty years ago, I watched history being made. Although I was only eleven, I will never forget
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